


To the Victor

by deedeeinfj



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/pseuds/deedeeinfj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night in Stephen's castle</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Victor

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2004.

"Look at you, Jack," said Stephen in affectionate concern. "Here now, into this bath." He laid a towel aside and helped his bruised, aching friend down into the hot water. Within a few seconds, the steam rising from the bath had settled on both their foreheads in a fine sheen. Stephen knelt beside him, soaps and ointments at the ready, and Jack noticed how the loose sleeves of the doctor's robe left tiny wakes in the water. Stephen rolled up his sleeves and reached for one of the soaps.  
  
Jack closed his eyes, breaking the silence only occasionally with a low growl when Stephen bathed an open wound. Down his neck, across his shoulders, over the broad expanse of his back. His back was raw and sore, but Stephen's fingers were indeed those of a physician.   
  
"Lean back, my dear," Stephen said. Jack did so, wincing at the contact between the tub and his back. Stephen washed his chest, then moved down to his feet. Here were the worst wounds, and Jack listened as Stephen knocked about bottles of ointment. What he did apply stung like the devil, and Jack let out another growl. Up his legs Stephen went, and Jack suddenly opened his eyes.   
  
"That's quite enough, Stephen," he said, clearing the thickness in his throat. "I feel hale and hearty and good as new. Where the devil is my robe?"  
  
Stephen leaned back on his heels and let his sleeves fall back down. "Come to bed, Jack."  
  
"What's that you say? It's not half past--"  
  
Then Stephen was leaning forward again, and his hand was... "Come to bed, my dear," he said. Before Jack could reply, Stephen's lips were on his, and Jack found himself returning the kiss hungrily. This was no delicate woman's mouth, no soft maiden. This was a roughness and an unyielding force, like the best days at sea, when the wind gusted into the sails and the ocean moved him along faster and faster.  
  
Stephen began to pull back, but Jack found himself clutching the doctor's short hair in his fingers, holding him there. He thought of lovely, dainty Sophie, with her flushed cheeks and sweet voice, and knew that she could never awaken this fierce desire that the pale physician made flame inside him. Stephen helped him to his feet and offered the towel, but Jack wanted none of it.  
  
His mouth still fighting for Stephen's, he pushed his friend awkwardly backwards until they reached the first bed in sight. Stephen lay back on the bed, laughing softly as if at some secret joke, and Jack moved over him, searching for the merry laugh with his tongue. He bit down softly on Stephen's lower lip. "Is this a plot to make a sodomist of me, doctor?"  
  
"Lie back," said Stephen. Jack did so, knowing that the other man could never have the force to move him. Stephen kissed him again, moving lower down his body, tasting and biting. The soft material of his robe felt soothing on Jack's still-damp skin, but Jack wanted it off. He wanted to see more than the triangle of pale skin that the robe revealed. He wanted Stephen, all of him. He was a sailor, God-damn it, a man of action. Touching, doing, not this waiting. Was he a woman, that Stephen should seduce him, lure him into bed, hover over him with this sense of authority and control?  
  
But he forgot about pulling off Stephen's robe, he forgot about impatient submission, when the doctor's mouth found his cock. Whores had serviced him, oh yes, many a time, but their mouths were not like this - strong and forceful and knowing. He didn't care what words came out of their mouths when they spoke; there was no spark of intelligence or real feeling in their eyes when they fixed on his. He didn't care about them. They could be done with him, demand their handful of coins, and it would never matter if he saw them again. But Stephen pleasured him with a mouth that spoke nothing but brilliance, touched him with hands that could repair a man's skull, caressed him with fingers that could draw perfection from the strings of a cello, watched him with dark, fierce eyes.   
  
"Damn you if you ever stop," he gasped. "Damn you, damn you..." And damn himself, for hell was made for fornicators. No fire could consume as this one did, though, and he did not fear it. He hated the land, where fate seemed to leave no marks on the solid foundations of homes, the ground under people's feet. Under Stephen's mouth, he found himself at sea again, carried away by a force he could not control - and yet a force he pretended to control. He was both master and servant of nature's whim, both master and servant of Stephen Maturin. "More, Stephen," he demanded. He gripped the edge of the doctor's robe with one hand, the bedclothes with the other. He flinched slightly when he felt Stephen's fingers wander lower, growled when they slipped into him, moaned when they found something inside of him that he never knew existed. "What... the devil... what... Stephen?" he managed. Did the doctor now intend to take him as a woman? And yet the thought of Stephen's cock touching whatever his fingers now touched -- Stephen's lips and tongue were hard and insistent, and Jack groaned as he spilled himself into that maddening mouth.  
  
Stephen moved up his body, struggling for breath, his chest pushing against Jack's. Jack pushed the robe from the doctor's shoulders and tossed it aside, running his hands over Stephen's white skin. Stephen smiled and lowered a knee between Jack's legs. "May I pleasure you again, my dear?"  
  
"Consider my pleasure your new service to His Majesty's navy," Jack growled, gripping Stephen's head and pulling him down. He had never tasted himself, for he had never desired to kiss the mouths of whores. But there he was on Stephen's tongue, and he heard some feral noise rumbling up through his body.  
  
"Not to His Majesty," Stephen replied. "My new service to Jack Aubrey. Stay for a moment." He lifted himself up, and Jack felt like a brig in a calm. But Stephen returned soon enough, one of the ointment bottles in hand. "Should you like to put this on me, Jack?" he asked.  
  
"I am no physic, Stephen. What can you mean by it?" Smiling, Stephen took Jack's hand and poured into it what seemed to be some sort of oil. He set the bottle aside and guided Jack's hand to his cock, swallowing hard when Jack understood and wrapped his hand around it, spreading the oil evenly. Stephen gasped and buried his lips in Jack's neck, and Jack felt another surge of power at his ability to make Stephen moan like a woman in his arms. "Stephen," he breathed, "I want you now, touching whatever that was."  
  
"You will have me." Stephen took a moment to position himself, then pushed into Jack with a surprising burst of discomfort. But Stephen was so slight and Jack so large, the discomfort was soon forgotten and replaced by the supreme pleasure of Stephen's cock pushing against... Jack didn't know what, but it was a gift from sweet God in his heaven, the very same who would send him to the abyss for receiving it.  
  
They moved together in an insistent rhythm, and Jack's senses beat to quarters. He looked up at Stephen's face, listened to the doctor's breathless moans, and realized that if one person were being served at the moment, it was Stephen Maturin. Just as soon followed the realization that he took even greater pleasure from this. Yes, Stephen was Nature, who controlled Jack's fate even while serving it.   
  
"Jack," he moaned, his movements now desperate. Sweat shone on his face and beaded on the end of his nose. "Jack..." Stephen cried out and Jack felt himself flooded with warmth - even more so when Stephen fell heavily over him, giving his mouth for Jack's exploration.   
  
Jack rolled them over with ease, still kissing his friend's mouth, though not as hungrily as before. He felt as weary and satisfied as he did after a victory, and Stephen was the prize. Stephen, who seemed small and slight beneath him. Stephen was the  _Sophie_  - not she of maidenly blushes and shy glances, but the small man-of-war who defeated a greater ship. Stephen the victor, Stephen the prize. Illogical that, but Jack would not trouble himself about it.  
  
Stephen Maturin, falling asleep beside him, Nature declaring the arrival of night.


End file.
